The Weight of an Adventurous Life
by Wedjatqi
Summary: John doesn't deal with grief well, but even he has to face it eventually. JT. Set after the events of the episode Ghost in the Machine S5.


**Rating**: **T**

**Disclaimers**: I own no part of the Stargate world, I make no money from this and I wish that I could make money from having such fun.

**Warning: **Not the most cheerful of fics. Sorry.

**Note: **Continuing on with my re-evaluation of Season 5 of SGA, this is my fic inspired by episode 5 – Ghost in the Machine. I was struck by the fact that in many ways Elizabeth Weir has died for our lot several times now – when she was initially described as unlikely to ever be herself again if she ever woke from her coma in Adrift, then leaving her behind on the Replicator Home world. Then discovering the Replicator version of her and learning that the original version had been killed and then the replicator version died. Now, in a way, they have lost her again after this episode. Emotionally taxing and John seemed to particularly feel the weight of this in the episode. He hates to lose his 'team' and now has lost this friend several times.

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The wide expanse of water was good. There was nothing to be seen but ocean, no land, no creatures, no sun or moon blotting the greyed toned early evening sky. Nothing but water and clouds, seeming to meet at the far horizon, but he knew they didn't – the sky and ocean never met.

The breeze was good as well. It rushed steadily against him, slightly cold, but that only helped combat the slightly muggy evening. The air moved constantly against his hair, over his bare forearms and around his bared lower legs and feet. Open air surrounded his legs where he hung them over the edge of the balcony, his elbows resting on the lower rung of the railing. The breeze enlivened his senses, a constant distraction over his skin and rushing against his ears, helping to blot out far more than the sound of the wide ocean far below and beyond.

The haze was good too. A haze from just one too many beers, the cans crumpled on the balcony floor to his left. The last can hung from his fingers, loose in his grip. He focused on the can, turning it slightly, tempted to let go and let it drop the who knew how many floors to the pier below. He pulled the can back in from over the railing and sipped at it. There wasn't much left inside and it was his last.

It had been a while since he had gotten this drunk by himself. This wasn't the kind of mood to be shared.

He tipped the can back further, drinking almost enough to empty it. He swallowed the large mouthful, the taste as bland as the grey sky and darkening ocean. He stared out at the view, swinging his feet, making them colder in the wind.

He had drunk too much, but it still wasn't enough, and he knew from experience that no amount of alcohol could kill memories and feelings. He wasn't drinking for that anyway, but because right now this was how he wanted to handle the situation. He was miserable and right now it was the best he had. It took the edge off, for tonight at least.

He had sought out this lonely far room high up in a building on the east pier. The floor of the balcony was hard under his backside, but he didn't care in his state.

He rested his weight further on his elbows, hanging his forearms over the balcony railing. There were days when he really didn't like his job. No other job would mean that you had to lose someone important to you so many times over.

Elizabeth Weir had died too many times and each time she did he went through all the guilt and grief again. Of course this latest version was another Replicator version, he was almost sure of it, but there was still that doubt. Ultimately, it didn't matter, because he still felt the same emotions encroaching again as had haunted him the last time. So, he had taken himself away from the city and sat here alone. Only this way could he allow himself to deal with it all again.

He loved his work, but some days…

He held the can out further from the railing, holding it by the rim with just his fingertips. He loosened his grip slightly, seeing how loose he could make his grip.

A shape arrived in the corner of his eye and he knew how drunk he was to have not heard them approach. He glanced up, surprised at who it was.

Her eyes assessed him, the concern narrowing as she no doubt saw the haze to his eyes. Her gaze slid down his arms to where he still held the can, loosely held over the drop below. He felt a brief wave of embarrassment at her seeing him like this, but he shoved it aside rather bitterly as he looked away. It wasn't like he hadn't spent moments like this with her on his mind.

"We have been looking for you," Teyla said softly, her voice just carrying against the breeze.

John glanced back up to her, watching as she pulled stray strands of her hair away from her face where the wind whipped them.

"You found me," he told her with as much of a smile as he could in his current state.

"You are drunk," she added and there was a touch of amusement in the worry in her voice.

John pulled the can in from the railing and tipped his head back to drink down the very last of his last beer. He swallowed the mouthful and released a sigh. "Yes. Yes, I am," he replied.

He set his elbows back on the railing, holding the now empty can between his hands, reluctant for some reason to set it aside. He turned the cool metal between his fingers.

Teyla shifted and he felt her sit down next to him. He glanced slightly to the side to watch as she hung her own legs off the edge of the balcony, her arms resting on the lower railing along from his. The wind caught the long sleeves of her top, billowing them around the shape of her elegant arms. He looked away back to the grey ocean and sky.

He didn't want to talk and especially not to her in his current state. He could already feel the usual resentment that he had no right to feel. With it, the sadness in his chest only grew, bringing with it the acknowledgement that he didn't just lose people through death. Some people, some things, just slipped through your fingers.

He held the can out further, loosening his grip further this time, in small increments, and finally it dropped. Simply dropped from his hand and fell.

He leant right forward against the railing and watched as it fell away, the tiny speck falling down and away. It vanished from view, too small and fast for his eyes to track from up here. He imagined what would happen to it. Would it crumple at the bottom or bounce away? Maybe the wind would catch it, carry it back towards the city or off out into the ocean somewhere.

In his drunken mind he considered going down to the base of the building and seeing if he could find it, wanting it back as if that would change anything.

He looked up from the dizzying view below and back out to the grey world.

"We do not know that it was really Elizabeth," Teyla said quietly.

"I know," he replied.

The wind gushed harder and John closed his eyes against it, wishing that all the hurt that he had gathered over all the years could simply be swept out of him. So often it could be handled, managed or dealt with, but sometimes…

Amidst the sound of the ocean and the air, he heard Teyla's soft sigh. He opened his eyes and glanced round at her, unsure what had drawn his attention so from that sound.

She was looking off to the distant horizon as well, her hair dancing back from her face, and there were full unshed tears in her eyes.

The sight tugged at his heart in a way more honest than ever before.

She looked round at him, her watery eyes meeting his and, in those dark beautiful depths, he saw all the same feelings of loss and the weight of this life they both lived in this ancient city.

He had no words for her and as he was now, hazy and far too raw, he didn't want to offer any. He simply looked into her eyes and felt the wetness in his own. He had never let anyone else see this before and part of him shied away from showing it now, but he held her gaze. Everyone he had lost here, she had also lost. It was a shared pain, and one that he wished she did not bear.

She smiled softly and looked away. He kept his eyes on her though, his barriers lower than normal. The wind against her skin had brought a rosy glow to her cheeks and her hair swept back by the air, exposed the side of her neck and ear to him. He closed his eyes, the ache returning, and looked away.

He opened his eyes to the distant horizon again, the evening slightly darker.

Teyla's hand touched against his, her warm fingers gripping around the back of his hand. It was a touch of comfort, communicating a shared loss and understanding exchanged.

He glanced to her beside him; some tears had fallen free from her eyes, tracking down her closest cheek. The temptation to dry them, to soothe her pain rose in him, but it was not his place to offer such comfort. To press a kiss to her temple, to her lips, and try to offer something warm in place of the cold, but it was not his to give.

He looked back out to the world and shifted his hand against hers. He pressed his palm to hers, sliding his fingers between hers to clasp her hand in his. It was more than he would have shared, but less than what his heart wished. Her fingers tightened between his, happy with the touch, and her thumb grazed over his.

He looked down at their joined hands, her smaller darker one intertwined with his, and the ache deepened, but the pain lessened. Some things simply were, some disappeared and some never began, and others were lost forever.

The horizon beckoned again as the cold sharp clarity of sobriety set in. Yet, he did not lessen his hold on her hand and neither did she, her arm resting against his and her feet swinging high above the pier along with his.

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THE END


End file.
